


Uncontrolled

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Acceptance, Alexis | Quackity Angst, Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft, felt like writing this instead of doing homework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A look into the effects of Quackity and Schlatt's relationship
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 3
Kudos: 120
Collections: Anonymous





	Uncontrolled

It wasn't supposed to turn out like this.

From the start of the election to the decision he made to leave, nothing was supposed to turn out this way. 

His thoughts clouded his mind, the memories turning to dust as he watched them on replay, analyzing every second of their relationship, remarking on how he hadn't noticed any of it before. How stupid and ignorant he'd become. He tried to stop thinking about the man who put a hole in his chest, but nothing seemed to work anymore. Everything seemed so out of his control, out of his jurisdiction. It made him want to hold his breath and wish the urge to inhale never came. 

It was suffocating. A fog thickened the air whenever he was back with Schlatt, a deep dark red smoke rose whenever he was with him. It took so long to undo that smoke, to open his window and see him for what he truly was. 

And when his vision cleared, and the smoke dissipated from its rose colored haze, the hole in his chest started to grow. And it started to flourish. How that hurt. 

Oh god, how it fucking hurt.

Schlatt had never wanted him. He had never liked him for who he was. All those times where some semblance of affection was shown, the smile on his face covered up a sinister sneer in his eyes. Their dates, when they walked together, tender fingers grasping his hands in ways he never thought was possible, ways he never would have imagined. 

None of it was real. 

The affection he had shown was fake, all his actions towards him were fake, it was all fake, not real, not true. He never loved him, he never would. He was nothing but a deceitful, fake person. A fake president, a fake lover, a fake man, fake, fake, fake- 

He wanted to pull the hair out of his head, knock his brains out so he wouldn't make the same goddamn mistake again. He never wanted this to happen to him, he never even knew it could happen. 

Why would he ever even fall for him in the first place. This man who fucking tore out his heart and stomped on it, kicked him when he was on his knees. The man who slapped him when he wanted affection, punched his stomach to get rid of the butterflies. Who gave cupid a gun and told them to aim for his heart. 

A shot rang out, and suddenly, he was gone. The bullet pierced his chest, and he bleeds out with love in his eyes, love surrounding him on the floor. He somehow wants to keep bleeding, the warmth comforting as it reminds him of his arms, his touch, his everything. 

He couldn't find the strength to get up. Or, maybe he just didn't have the will at all. His want for Schlatt was so overpowering, so intoxicating that he didn't want it to stop. Maybe he had deserved everything Schlatt did to him. Maybe he did something that made him so displeased, that he turned to be so angry and fucking drunk all the time. If he obeyed Schlatt more, he would've loved him. It was probably his fault he was in this mess anyways, this tangle of emotions he was in was his own fault. He should have gone back. No, he shouldn't. He should. 

He desperately reached out for something, anything that would save him from the endless self loathing he experienced every day since he left. He clawed at the air, and at his chest, willing the ache to go away, to stop and leave him be. 

It felt so empty, so isolated in the room he was given. There was no one there to save him from the monster he had run from, the monster he wanted again. No one was there to help, but then again did he even deserve it. He didn't think so. What the hell was wrong with him? 

He tried anything, anything to just stop his head from thinking, stop himself from reliving the hurt and pain and agony that was him and Schlatt. Nothing had worked. 

A man appeared in front of him whenever he thought about him. Taunting him, telling him how shit he was at everything he does. And every time he appeared, Quackity would shout, would cry, and would stare blankly into the wall, wondering if this was what losing your mind looked like. Is this what Wilbur felt every single day of his life ever since he was banished from L'manberg. Maybe it was.

One day, it got too much for him to take. He broke down onto the floor, the air too suffocating for him to breath. Quicksand enveloped him as he kneeled beside the imaginary man, sobs wracking throughout his body as he pounded the floor, wanting him to go away, to hold him, to do anything. The man only stared, his eyes glinting. His horns made him look like a devil, but to Quackity, he was angelic. Or was he a demon. He couldn't seem to fucking tell. 

He looked up at his goat-like eyes, the man opening his mouth to say something to him, probably insulting him as always, but an idea came to his mind. He spoke before he could stop himself. 

"I love you" 

A weight felt lifted off his chest. His eyes widened. It felt like he could breathe.

And so he said it again.

"I love you. I love you, I love you I love you, I fucking loved you-"

And the imaginary man disappeared, and he was left repeating words to a stone wall. The ache in his chest had lessened, but the tears kept streaming down his face. It seemed to get stronger every time he said those three words, those words which he had trouble saying before. 

He was there for what seemed like hours, slumped on the floor with his face in his hands. When he finally got up, he felt a bit of that hole in his chest from before, but most of it had already closed up. He looked around into the mirror, where he stared at himself for a few minutes. 

He looked at his eyes, his face, his hands. 

He looked behind him and noticed an imaginary man.

But this was not a day for him to take hold. 

It was time for him to move onward, uncontrolled.

**Author's Note:**

> please for the love of god don't contact the ccs about anything fic related, this fic included. 
> 
> anyways with that out of the way, i have to go do some homework. let me make it clear that i in no way ship them irl.
> 
> i don't even know if i want this to be classified as ship related, it's more a look into what would happen to quackity if he was more heavily affected by their split. 
> 
> so with that said, i'm gonna go. thanks for reading


End file.
